


Secrets in the Walls

by Lhugy_for_short



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, But then shit's on fire, Creeper Ardyn, Family Secrets, I have no excuse for why this is so long sorry, M/M, Master & Servant, Nonconsensual kissing, Prompto Argentum Is a Sweetheart, no actual smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-13 22:50:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18040592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lhugy_for_short/pseuds/Lhugy_for_short
Summary: After a long journey brings Prompto to Caelum Manor at last, the least he can hope for is a warm reception at the gates. Instead, he finds himself working off a debt to the eccentric lord of the house, and caught up in a dangerous webs of murder, revenge, and ultimately war.(No dubcon/noncon; no graphic sex; implied consensual relationships)





	1. The Manor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [face70](https://archiveofourown.org/users/face70/gifts).



> Okay, so let me start off by saying the original request was to explore the relationship between Ardyn and Prompto in a non-romantic way. Perhaps the normal reaction would be to stick to canon, maybe do some behind-the-scenes at Zegnautus or something. And if that was what you were looking for...I am truly sorry lol. I can't explain how or why this story developed the way it did (or why the $%@* it turned out as long as it did I almost died aahh) but I hope you can enjoy it anyway!  
> Presenting the Victorian estate/Wuthering Heights-inspired/totallynothistoricallyaccurate/sometimes-funny,sometimes-angsty/semi-nonconny but there's no sex/Ireallyjustwantedtowritethehorsebackridingscene Promdyn-slash-Promptio AU! (plus side-Ignoct) 
> 
> ..... >_>;;

 

The Lucian countryside was more beautiful than he ever could have imagined. Red-dust desert and craggy mountains had given way to forests, flowers, and rolling hills of green as far as the eye could see. Above, the sky was a surprisingly pleasant shade of blue. Surprising because from what Prompto had overheard in his travels, the weather in Lucis was often as dreary as the people. 

He'd come a long way to reach the continent. Three weeks by ship, second class, from Gralea, carrying nothing but a small bag of his belongings and a letter of request from his uncle, Cor Leonis. After that, he'd spent the last of his allowance on hiring a carriage to take him out of the city. Insomnia, he was told, was a two-day ride from Caelum Manor, weather and luck permitting. Upon seeing the horses his driver had chosen to pull them, however, Prompto was more worried about whether or not the beasts would survive the trip. 

They had, of course. Something in the ground or the water made the natives of Lucis heartier than they seemed. In just under a day and a half, while the sun was cresting above the great arches of stone in the distance, Prompto arrived at what he hoped would be his new home.  

“Woah, woah. Easily, girls.” The carriage had rolled to a stop in what appeared to be a garden, only more extravagant than anything he'd ever seen back in Gralea. From the small window, Prompto couldn't quite tell how far the rows of roses, lilacs, chrysanthemums, and asters actually stretched. Great brick walls stretched up on one side of the garden, blanketed in places with ivy and delineating the outer reaches of the estate itself. The manor - and his would-be host - awaited within. 

Voices outside the carriage had Prompto scrambling to gather his bags. There was a knock on the door, and a large man opened it so roughly he nearly pulled the thing right off its hinges. Dark hair, a scar running down over his left eye (a honeyed amber tone), and badly in need of a shave, the man introduced himself curtly as Gladiolus Amicitia. “I work the stables,” he offered when Prompto continued to stare at him almost aghast. “I need to get you inside before I can tend to the horses. Bet they had a rough road here.” 

Prompto noticed the groom took no interest in his  _ own  _ journey, but he refrained from comment and instead handed over one of his bags. The driver was already busy unlashing the reins, so they bid him farewell and turned for the gates instead. Gladiolus moved quickly on his tree-like legs, but Prompto was propelled behind him by a mix of excitement and trepidation. Coming here was, of course, a frightening risk. His uncle had assured him that the lord of the manor, an influential aristocrat named Regis Lucis Caelum, was an old friend, and that he would certainly find place in his home for a new ward. Regis’ own son, his only child, was about Prompto’s age but had always been sickly in his youth. Cor hoped to strengthen ties between their families through them; Prompto was just looking forward to making a friend. 

The sound of his bags dropping to the pavement pulled him back to the moment. Gladiolus had brought them through a courtyard and around to the side of the massive home, where he knocked twice on a narrow door. “Gralean’s here,” he announced, as brusque as before, and the door opened to reveal a tall, poised man not much older than himself. 

“Thank you, Gladio. I'll take him from here,” the man, who wore a pair of thin spectacles above a high nose and combed his hair back in the manner of Tenebraen fashion, said. “Come, bring your things. Lord Caelum is waiting upstairs.”   

Prompto wasn't sure how to reply. His escort, the gruff groom, was already turning back toward the carriage parked at the gates. The man at the door didn't seem interested in waiting either, and without much time to think Prompto grabbed his belongings and hurried inside after him. 

It hadn't been the welcome he'd been hoping to receive. For one thing, the servant’s entrance was hardly a place for guests held in any form of esteem. But he attributed the treatment - and Gladiolus’ harsh tone - to the political climate. After all, Lucis and Gralea had been at war more often than not, and a few years of peace meant little to those who had already seen battle. Still, his new guide (who introduced himself as Ignis Scientia, the butler overseeing the manor) was considerably more amicable, and led him through the kitchens to the parlor room with no complaints about his heritage  _ or  _ his clothing. 

“Take a seat here, but mind the rug.” Ignis gestured to a single dining chair in the center of the parlor room. “Lord Caelum will be here shortly to have a look at you. Keep your eyes on the floor and do not speak unless you are addressed. In Lucis, it is not customary to shake hands or bow, so do your best to refrain from both.”

Settling into the chair with his bags in his lap, Prompto frowned. “I-I didn't realize this would be so hard. My uncle always said Lord Regis didn't care much for formalities.”

A pause. Ignis looked at him for a long moment, the corners of his mouth belying his concern, and Prompto's heart sunk when at last he spoke. “…Did you not hear? Lord Regis passed away last winter. His cousin, Ardyn Lucis Caelum, is the master of this manor now.”


	2. Learning the Ropes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto is made an offer that he quickly wishes he'd refused.

The events that led to the prestigious estate falling into the hands of the family’s ‘black sheep’ were complex to say the least. Ardyn Caelum, nicknamed ‘ _ Izunia _ ’ or  _ traitor _ by the men who’d served under him in battle, was himself mired in suspicion. Some said he’d murdered his own brother when he was younger, though of course there was no proof. Others said he'd sold military secrets to Niflheim generals, resulting in the fall of Accordo into Imperial hands nearly a decade before. But these were things Prompto learned later, mostly in hushed whispers spoken behind closed doors of the manor, and long after he'd already made Ardyn’s acquaintance in the flesh. 

The parlor was warm, comfortable despite the early spring chill. Prompto supposed he had the fire that crackled in the hearth to thank for part of that, but his nerves, too, kept him from sitting still. More than ten minutes had passed since Ignis left him there to wait, yet there was still no sign of the lord of the house. Prompto fidgeted in his seat, folded and unfolded his uncle’s letter in his lap, but it felt time was continuing to crawl. At last, unable to sit any longer without fear of going mad, he got to his feet to examine the portraits above the mantle. 

The art, as expected from such a wealthy home, was immaculate. Three oil canvases framed in gold hung upon on the wall, each one different and yet even Prompto could see the resemblance in the faces. One was an older man, with greying hair and a full beard. He was dressed in all black, yet despite the grim presence his eyes seemed to be smiling right through the paint.  _ Regis,  _ there was no mistake. Prompto had heard enough stories to recognize him right away, and his heart felt heavy now to know they would never have a chance to meet. 

The second portrait was more recent, as evident in the sheen of the paint and the addition of the Imperial crest in the background. In the center, a man stood in strange garb - neither Lucian nor anything Prompto had seen on the streets of Gralea. His hair was auburn, and his smile crooked, but there was humor in his expression, as well. Was this Ardyn? It was impossible to say; he knew nothing of the man, and speculation would only worsen his nerves.

So he moved to the last portrait, which was of a much younger face. A child, in fact, his pale cheeks round and eyes a deep, curious blue. Regis’ son, Noctis? What surprised Prompto most, besides that the boy had been painted sitting in a wheelchair, was the almost sad, distant look on his face. It was a look that Prompto knew well; it was one that told him the boy was terribly lonely. 

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” 

The voice caught Prompto off guard. He whirled to meet the source of it, but not without managing to knock a bronze platter from the mantle in his haste. It clattered to the floor, the only other sound in the parlor aside from boots on brownstone tile.  

“O-oops!”

“I must admit,” continued the man striding toward him. “When I heard my late cousin’s acquaintance was sending us an orphan, I had...misgivings. But I am pleased to see you are apparently a young man of taste.” 

Prompto instantly recognized him as the figure in the second portrait. He had the same rusted umber hair, the same eyes, the same crooked smile. He was Ardyn Lucis Caelum, lord of the manor and the one upon whom Prompto’s fate rested. 

And  _ he’d _ just knocked over his plate. 

“S-sorry, I--” There was a flash of light in the man’s eyes, not angry but somehow amused, and too late Prompto remembered Ignis’ advice:  _ do not speak unless you’ve been addressed _ . Had that counted? Was he to remain silent until given permission to answer, or was he already being rude simply by saying nothing at all? Nerves got the better of him, and by the time he’d decided to at least introduce himself, Ardyn had already swooped down and replaced the platter gently on the mantle. 

“I…I'm Prompto. Argentum, that is. I-I was sent by my uncle to--”

“Yes, yes. We've established that,” Ardyn smiled again. “I received a letter about a week ago - or, rather, my late cousin did, but his burdens, as you can see, have fallen to me. As have his finances, his debts, his floundering investments….”

“S-sir?”

“Patience. I'm getting to you in a moment, dear boy. His debts and floundering investments which, as you might imagine, have left this estate in quite the financial predicament. Not enough money to pay all the help, and I've had to…let go of a few loyal members of staff. Pity, truly a pity.”

Prompto still wasn't following. According to Cor, the Caelum house was one of the wealthiest in all of Lucis, had been for centuries. Even through the last two wars it had stood firm. What Ardyn was telling him was almost as shocking as the news of Lord Regis’ death, and it meant he was likely going to be turned away at the door. In the end, he'd come all this way for nothing. 

“I…I'm sorry. I didn't know.”

“Of course you didn’t. Now, show me that letter you've been mangling since I arrived, quickly, before you tear it.” He took the envelope and opened it with practiced ease. Smoothed out the letter inside several times against the top of his thigh, then leaned in closer to the fire light as his eyes moved over the words. “Hm. Have you ever ridden a horse? No? How about housework? Can you cook, clean?”

“I, um.” Swallowing, Prompto was only half aware that his empty hands had begun clutching at the hem of his shirt instead. “Maybe, I guess? Why do you--?”

“It seems like quite an obvious solution to me, my dear boy.” There was that smile again, the one that was beginning to give Prompto an icy feeling in his gut. “You are in need of room and board. I could use a pair of hands to help care for this estate.”

“Like…a servant? I-I don't think I--”

“Consider it a temporary position. I have several investments of my own that I expect will start to pay off in the coming months. Earn your keep until then, and we shall call it even.”

It was hardly the arrangement Prompto had been hoping to be offered. What would his uncle have said? What would Regis have said, or even his son for that matter? Surely there was some other way to work things out? Maybe, if he could just talk to the young heir in person…. “I-I was told there was another member of the Caelum family living here. Noctis--”

“Is very ill, I’m afraid,” Ardyn interrupted flatly. “The passing of his dear father was too much, you see. He never leaves his room, refuses to see anyone.”

He affected a sigh, and with it Prompto’s heart sank even deeper. “Would that he were well and could relieve me of the burden of this estate. Alas, the duty of caretaker has fallen to me, as well. Now, about my offer….” 

The two choices he faced were equally grim. Accepting Ardyn’s arrangement at least guaranteed him a roof over his head and meals, meager though he expected they may be. Returning to Gralea and uncle Cor empty-handed, well. That was hardly an option at all. Prompto wrung his shirt in his hands for another long moment before slowly, hesitantly conceding with a nod. 

“Splendid! You’ll begin your training at once. Good choice you’ve made, boy. Good choice.” 

Ardyn tossed the letter from Cor into the fireplace, as if by doing so he somehow forged their agreement. While he called to the door to summon the butler again, Prompto found himself staring into the flames; red hot and final. He’d made his choice. There would be no going back. 

* * *

 

“The guest rooms and foyer are strictly off limits. When you move about the house, you will use only those hallways deigned for servants. You are to be unseen, unheard, and unobtrusive.  _ Invisible,  _ as it were. Questions so far?” 

Prompto stared up into Ignis’ cool, commanding eyes and shook his head. 

“Good. Breakfast is at six thirty, lunch at one, and dinner at eight o’clock. If you’re late, you won’t eat. Now get to work.” 

Just like that, he was left to it. Ignis strode back towards the kitchens, no doubt to tend to his own duties, but despite the instructions he’d been given, Prompto felt entirely out of his element. In Gralea, before his parents had died, they’d lived a modest life in a small home without the need for hired help. There had been only four rooms to clean instead of fifty, only three mouths to feed, and no garden or horses to look after day after day. Once he’d moved in with Cor on the edge of town, there had been even less work to do. 

So left standing in the servants’ quarters, holding a bucket of soapy water in one hand and a worn rag in the other, Prompto was understandably at a loss. Where was he even expected to start? 

Eventually, he decided to go with the front entrance hall. It seemed as good a place as any, and it was the only room he remembered how to get back to via the parlor. Setting down his bucket, he lowered himself to his knees beside it and dunked his rag in the water. 

The work went surprisingly quickly. He moved backwards, dragging the rag with him and wetting as much of the floor as he could in mostly-straight lines. By the time his knees began to ache where they dug into hard wood, he was nearly finished with the entrance way and ready to move onto the main corridor. Maybe, he thought, this wasn’t going to be so hard after all. 

“...What the hell is this? You  _ trying _ to get yourself in trouble?” 

Prompto knew that voice. A glance over his shoulder confirmed it - Gladiolus, the horse guy, was watching him from the door, arms folded over his massive chest and shaking his head at the soaking wet room. “Who taught you to scrub floors, kid?”

“I-I was just….”

“Or don’t you have floors in Niflheim? Maybe you all walk around barefoot in the dirt, and that’s why you’re so bad at this.” 

Freckled cheeks colored at the insult, but Prompto forced his gaze steady. “We have floors. I’ve just never done this before.” 

“Clearly.” Gladio took off his boots in the doorway, caked with mud and Astrals knew what else, and left them outside as he entered. With a heavy hand he brushed Prompto out of his way to commandeer his bucket instead. “Look, you can’t just push water around, it’ll soak the wood and ruin it. First, you wring out the rag, like this.” He demonstrated, but as Prompto watched the water squeezed from the cloth, all he could imagine was his own neck being wrung between those frighteningly strong hands. He gulped. “Now you try.” 

Working through his fear, Prompto eventually got the hang of it. He and Gladio mopped up the soapy mess he’d made and instead left the floor practically sparkling in their wake. It felt good - his first real accomplishment in his new employ - but by the time he turned to thank his tutor, Gladio was already turning to leave again. 

“Don’t mention it,” he shrugged from the door. “But you owe me your share of the meat at dinner.” 


	3. Exhausted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As if the work isn't bad enough, Prompto finds his new 'employer' has something even worse in store.

The day hadn’t gotten any easier after noon. Prompto had to scrub three more hallways by himself, dust the furniture in all the rooms on the first floor, wash the front windows, and sweep out two well-used chimney flues. His body ached and his stomach was growling by dinner; yet, as promised, he took only his share of vegetables and left the other half of his plate for Gladio. 

Still hungry, he at least hoped he had a pillow and a warm bed to look forward to soon. But if he’d thought his work was done for the night, he was very wrong. 

“A bath? That sounds lovely, where should I--” 

Ignis cut him off with a sharp look. “Not for you. The master bedroom is on the second floor, you can reach it using the stairwell behind the library. You’ll carry two buckets, which you’ll fill from the boiler around back. Come, I’ll explain on the way.” 

It was easily the most trying challenge of the day. Each bucket, once full with steaming water, weighed as much as a stone, and he had to take care not to spill any along the way. The walk to the staircase alone had his arms shaking, and the climb to the second floor left him winded, flushed, wincing with pain. He regretted, not for the first time that day, ever coming to this miserable manor, and cursed himself for not staying back in Gralea where at least he wasn’t tortured. 

Reaching the bathroom at last, he let the buckets clatter to the floor and all but collapsed between them. It took the last reserves of energy just to lift them to the edge and dump the still-hot water into the porcelain tub. First one bucket, then the other. Prompto frowned. The tub was barely half-full, and yet he was certain he hadn’t sloshed any on the way. Did this mean he had to make a second trip? His arms were dead weights at his sides, his back was killing him, and just the thought of dragging himself back up those stairs was enough to make him cry. 

Footsteps padded suddenly on the tile behind him. Prompto quickly wiped his face and turned to see Ardyn, tall and imposing even in his dark silk robes, striding toward him. “My, my. This won’t do at all, my dear boy.” 

“I’m sorry,” he answered, voice shaky and far too high. 

“Sorry? Whatever for?”

“T-there’s not enough water. The bath isn’t ready.” More tears threatened to breach in his exhaustion. Ardyn looked from him to the tub and back again, and Prompto was certain he was about to lose everything. He’d be sent away before the night was through, penniless with his tail between his legs. 

Yet the smile that graced the lord’s lips was far from cruel. “I was referring to you, my boy. You were crying.” His face was tilted up. Ardyn’s thumb swept over the trails left behind by tears in the soot and dirt that stained his cheeks, then his palm moved to cup his jaw more fully. “Adjusting has been difficult, I take it?”

Prompto’s dams weakened further, and he could feel the sting of more tears as he slowly nodded his head. 

“ _ Tsk _ . I’ll have a talk with my butler. In the meantime, please, join me for a bath?” 

“Wha--?”

“Just a bath, my boy. The water will do wonders for those aching limbs of yours.” Before he’d even made up his mind, Ardyn was stripping in front of him. The belt of his robe was tugged loose, and silk fluttered down over his shoulders, his back, his waist, revealing a body far more toned than Prompto might have otherwise expected. There were scars, too, ghosting up his sides and over his chest; battle wounds? Had Ardyn fought in the war against Niflheim? 

Warm, yellow eyes watched him expectantly. The lord lowered himself into the tub, clearly leaving room for Prompto to join him on the other side. “No need to be shy. Surely you’ve had a proper bath before?”

That wasn’t the problem and Ardyn fully knew it. But what could Prompto say? The water did look inviting despite everything, and honestly he wasn’t sure he had a choice anyway. He recalled the way Ardyn had burned his uncle’s letter, the fear he’d felt knowing his fate was in the hands of this man he barely knew. Strangely, getting into the tub with him seemed the safer option than to refuse. 

So he peeled off his shirt, folded it carefully and left it hanging over the edge of the bathtub. Turned away from that unfaltering yellow gaze as he removed his pants and undershorts next. Prompto covered himself as best he could as he climbed into the hot water, and hoped his shame didn’t show too clearly on his burning cheeks.

“See,” Ardyn crooned at him. “That wasn’t so hard. Come, hand me the soap.” 

The older man washed his own hair first. True to his word, he kept his hands to himself, focused on the task at hand and only occasionally let his gaze drop below the surface of the water. Prompto, too, was able to wash up before the bath cooled completely. After his rough start at Caelum Manor, he’d been quick to give up hope. But between the bath and Ardyn’s apparent generosity, he was finally beginning to think that perhaps he stood a chance after all. 

From across the tub, an impressive yawn drew him back to the moment. “I’m afraid I’ll need to retire soon,” Ardyn said with an almost apologetic smile. “Leave the water, I’ll have someone drain it in the morning.” 

“A-are you sure?” 

“I’m certain. Get some rest. Please.” There was a fondness in his voice that Prompto hadn’t heard earlier in the day. It was refreshing, if he was being honest; they were the first kind words he’d heard since arriving at the estate, considering Ignis’ cold tone and Gladio’s brusqueness. It gave him hope. 

“Great, thank you. Is there anything else you need before I leave, sir?” Already he was climbing out of the tub, quickly stepping into his pants if only because of the chill. 

Still, Ardyn watched him. “There is one thing. Call me old-fashioned, but…I do sleep better after a goodnight kiss.”

With his bare back to the tub, Prompto paled. He heard the water sloshing before a shadow fell over him, and he turned to find Ardyn naked, dripping, and terribly close. “S-sir? N-no, I--” 

“No?” Fingers, dangerously powerful now, clasped around his chin. Yellow eyes free of their previous warmth held him in place as surely as the grip closing around his waist. And when Ardyn leaned down to kiss him, his lips were searing hot and hungry. 

Prompto’s breath fled him, his mind whirled. Helplessly his own fingers clawed at Ardyn’s slick skin, but the contact did nothing to abide his panic. In his struggle to break free, his foot caught something - discarded silk robes on slick tile - and he was sent tumbling down to the floor. His wrist caught the brunt of his weight; he cried out, shaken and in pain. Clutched his arm to his chest as Ardyn addressed him once more from above. 

“Get out, boy. Next time, you will not forget your place.” 

 

The kitchens were dark when Prompto slunk into them. He carried both buckets, now empty, in his good hand, and kept his eyes locked on the floor at his feet. All he wanted was to sleep. A bed - any bed - would do, and a blanket with which to hide himself from the world. 

He'd just set his charges down under the sink when a flicker of candlelight appeared from the pantry. Ignis followed behind like a shadow, balancing the oil lamp on one side and a sack of flour in the other. Gladio was with him, his own arms filled with a bushel each of apples - and one in his mouth. 

“Just put them on the table, I'll sort everything in the mor--” Green eyes went wide, and Ignis halted in his tracks. “Prompto?”

There'd been nowhere to hide. In silent shame, Prompto cast his eyes to the floor as answer. 

“We were waiting for you to return. Gladio even offered to help you with the second trip.” But his voice trailed off. Even in the dim candlelight, it was impossible to miss the  _ drip, drip  _ of now-cold bath water from the tips of his sopping hair. Prompto didn’t even bother to hide it; what would be the point? 

“Oh,” was all Ignis said. Another moment and he found his legs again. Strode past quickly and let the flour fall to the table with a loud  _ thud _ . Gladio, too, shook his head. He bit off a mouthful of the apple he'd been eating, then threw the rest at Prompto’s feet. 

“For the dinner,  _ Niff _ ,” he scoffed, and turned to storm off after his friend. 

Prompto didn't care about a bed anymore. He slid down the side of the table. Wrapped his arms around his thighs and cried into his sleeves, until at last exhaustion pulled him down into an uneasy sleep. 


	4. Exactly the One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His roughest night at the Manor yet leads to a surprising - and exciting - discovery.

 

He awoke to well-polished leather jabbing at his side. A shoe, to be exact, belonging to Ignis and none-too-gently attempting to rouse him. “Get up. You’ve already missed breakfast.”

Wearily, Prompto rubbed the tiredness from his eyes and pushed himself to his feet. His face felt puffy, his whole body stiff from the cold seeping through the stone floor, and his stomach was ready to revolt in hunger. But most of all, his wrist still throbbed where he’d fallen on it in the night. The thought of more scrubbing or dusting or whatever Ignis had in mind for him that morning had his gut tightening with dread.

“Today you’ll be assigned to the rooms upstairs,” came that even, dismissing tone. Ignis, he noticed, didn’t even bother to look at him as he spoke. “Start with draining the water in the master bath. His lordship specifically requested  _ you _ .”

So even awake, the nightmare hadn’t ended. Every nerve in his body protested as he picked up the buckets from the night before and begrudgingly started on the long trek up to Ardyn’s bedroom. 

By some stroke of luck, the halls on the second floor were as quiet as they were dark. Either the lord of the manor was still asleep, or he’d already left his room earlier in the morning. Either way, it meant Prompto was free to do his work in peace. Even if that work did involve kneeling on the cold floor tiles for half an hour, draining water from the very tub where he’d nearly walked into a trap the night before. 

Coming here had been foolish, he thought as he scrubbed at the surface of white porcelain. Regis was dead and Ardyn was dangerous, and if Cor knew the truth would he even blame him for wanting to go home? Anything promised to him in this place was a lie, after all. He couldn’t trust Ardyn’s word any more than he could trust the man’s intentions, and he feared what might happen if he stayed. More long days of cleaning and cooking? How long until he was forced to attend the lord’s bed, as well? 

Prompto clenched his rag tight in his hand. Shame still burned on his lips where Ardyn had so aggressively kissed him, but what stung even more was the way both Ignis and Gladio had treated him after. It was like they’d  _ expected  _ it, like they’d been blaming  _ him _ when they should have been the ones to help. He was on his own at Caelum Manor, and he knew he wouldn’t last long without a friend. 

Draining the bathtub, at least, turned out to be a much less daunting task than filling it had been. Small favors. The water, he found, could be dumped from the second floor hall window into a small gutter that ran all the way to the ground below. He could carry one bucket at a time to favor his injured wrist, and that meant the only real challenge was hoisting its weight up to the sill. He managed two whole bucketfuls before his legs, which were still sore from sleeping on stone all night, demanded a break. 

There was a worn armchair near the window, the cushions a faded beige where sunlight and time had bled the original colors. Of course Prompto couldn’t have cared less how ugly the thing was, so long as it held together when he lowered himself into the seat. He could guess there was likely some rule about servants not being allowed to touch the furniture, much less  _ sit  _ in it, but he hadn’t seen anyone else upstairs all morning, so he took the risk. Sinking into the chair felt almost like sinking into heaven.

He didn’t remember closing his eyes. Yet when he opened them again, it was with a start and to the sound of footsteps racing at the other end of the corridor.  

Panic had him sitting up in an instant. There was no sign of Ardyn, but he could definitely make out movement in the shadows ahead; someone - or some _ thing _ \- beyond a door at the end of the hall. 

Excitement replaced the cold terror in his veins. Aside from the lord of the house and the handful of servants that kept the place running, there was only one other person he knew to be living here. If his instinct was right, then….

Carefully, both his injured wrist and work forgotten for the moment, Prompto slipped from the chair and began to inch his way down the hall. Past the open window, past Ardyn’s bedroom and the grand staircase that led back to the foyer on the first floor. Past countless, ancient portraits hung along the walls, the eyes of the Caelums of old seeming to watch him every step of the way. But his curiosity propelled him onward despite his nerves. He had to know. He just had to….

“Prompto?” 

Ignis’ voice at his back was oddly high - he was likely just as startled by the encounter as Prompto - but his words were still powerful enough to freeze the blond in his tracks. He whirled around, mind already grasping for an excuse as to why he’d abandoned his work (“ _ I thought I saw a mouse!” “I was looking for a new rag!”)  _ but Ignis thankfully cut him off before he was forced to speak. 

“You shouldn’t be in this wing. His lordship keeps these rooms closed, no one is allowed here.” 

Prompto frowned. “No one? But I just saw--”

“Come. I need help in the kitchens,” came the dismissive reply. Ignis stepped toward him briskly, and guided him back down the hall with a firm arm around his shoulders. “There’s much to do, very busy. No time to be playing around upstairs.”

“But...you told me to--”

That arm around him tightened significantly, and Prompto swallowed back the rest of his protests. Yet he couldn’t help noticing the way Ignis glanced back over his own shoulder every few seconds, perhaps in fear or perhaps from...something else.

* * *

The rest of the house had fallen asleep hours ago. Outside, the midnight sky was pitch black, without a star or even moonlight to pierce the clouds. The darkness penetrated the very walls of Caelum manor, bathed the hallways in shadows thick enough to stave off candles. Luckily, Prompto didn't need to see to know where he was going.

He'd left the servant’s quarters (and, consequently, the sleeping forms of Ignis and Gladio) behind. Turned left out of the kitchens and felt his way along the wall until his bare feet touched polished wood.  _ The foyer. _ Another few steps, each one tempered so as not to creak the floor beneath him, brought him to the grand staircase. Smooth wooden handrails guided him to the upstairs corridor, not far from the window to the gutters and the worn armchair. He turned left away from them; headed down toward the other end of the hallway instead, where he was somehow not surprised to see a glimmer of candlelight beneath the solitary door there. 

As Prompto approached, he could see that the keyhole was illuminated as well. He slowed his steps, crouching until he was level with the knob and able to peer into the room beyond. At first, even with his cheek pressed to the cold metal, he could see nothing. Then, as his eyes adjusted to the light, he began to make out shapes of furniture - a bed, a wooden night table beside it, what appeared to be a spacious wardrobe on the far wall beyond. The light seemed to be coming from the wall opposite the bed, and just out of range of Prompto’s sight. So he shifted, turned his head and scrunched his face to the door, sucked in a breath and held it there in anticipation. 

A sudden shadow passing through his vision startled him backwards. Thrown off balance, he came down on his wrist once again, and as pain shot through his arm he let out a strangled gasp. 

There was no way to cover his mouth in time. On the other side of the door, the shadow paused. Prompto stared, wide-eyed, as it drew closer, knelt down, and a cautious voice whispered through the gap above the floor. “You’re Prompto, right?”

Numb with shock, he nodded. Then, realizing his mistake, crept forward again closer to the person on the other side of the door. “Y-yes. And you...you’re Noctis?”

“You know my name?”

Thrill raced through him. The answer confirmed everything he’d needed to know, everything that meant he still had a glimmer of hope in this place. “Of course!” he whispered, unable to hide the excitement in his voice. “You’re the reason I came here. Well, you and your father. I was sent here to meet you by my uncle Cor and--” 

“Cor?” There was genuine surprise in Noct’s tone, and his shadow moved to cover the keyhole again. “So  _ that’s  _ what Iggy meant when he said you were from Niflheim.”

Iggy? Was he talking about Ignis? But he’d said this wing was off-limits. When had he…? Quickly, Prompto shook his head - this wasn’t the time. “Listen, Noctis. I need your help. I came here to convince your father to let me stay, but Ardyn’s got me scrubbing the floors instead. I was hoping maybe you could talk to him for me?” 

There was noise that sounded like a scoff from beyond the door. “Talk to  _ Ardyn _ ? Who do you think keeps me locked in this room?”

It felt as if all the air had fled him. Prompto stared ahead in shock, not wanting to believe and yet unable to deny the truth right in front of him.  _ Noctis is sick _ , he’d been told.  _ Doesn’t want to see guests _ . When in actuality, he was simply being held prisoner in his own home by a madman who had no intention of letting either of them go. His only hope of escape was just as trapped as him. 

“Prompto?”

“...I…. Sorry. I didn’t realize.” His eyes stung, and he dragged the back of his hand across them before the tears could fall. 

“We probably shouldn’t talk here like this. I’ll have Iggy bring you tomorrow.” A pause. Noctis shifted his position behind the door. “He...doesn’t seem to trust you, but I think he’s wrong. I think you’re exactly the one we need.”


	5. Greater Men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Ardyn makes it clear what he expects of Prompto, an unlike opportunity presents itself from behind a wardrobe.

Those words resonated with him throughout the following day. As he swept the dust from the kitchen out into the grey morning air, Prompto found himself wondering yet again just how Noctis believed he could help. After all, he had no money left, no contacts; no one else in Lucis even knew he existed. According to Ignis, he couldn’t even manage to brew a proper pot of coffee, so what use could he possibly be to anyone?

He was still mulling over the riddle when one of the service bells above the cabinets chimed out. Once, twice, its tone impatient, and yet there were no others around to answer the call. Prompto leaned his broom against the frame of the back door and brushed off the front of his shirt. The bells, he knew, were connected to wires that ran all throughout the house. From practically any room, staff could be summoned with the simple pull of a string, and each bell had a unique sound to indicate the location. He’d seen Ignis and the others scurry off quickly without even a glance at the wall, having somehow (miraculously, in his opinion) memorized all the different chimes. 

But Prompto was at a loss. The bell in question was the third from the left, and the sign above it simply read  _ M _ in intricate script. Again, he swept his eyes around the kitchen. Still alone, yet the ringing was insistent. He couldn't ignore the possibility that it was Ignis, or even Noctis calling for him. What choice, then, did he have? Hurriedly, he headed for the parlor to begin the search. 

Almost twenty minutes and more than a dozen rooms later, he finally found located the source of the call: the master bedroom. 

_ Ardyn’s  _ bedroom.

Regret washed over him instantly in the form of a chilling sweat. 

“Well, you’ve certainly kept a lonely man waiting. That won’t do,” Ardyn frowned at him from the chaise near the arched windows. “That won’t do at all.” 

“S...sir,” he choked out. For one whole day, he managed to avoid those demanding yellow eyes and that twisted smile, but he should have known the peace was too good to last. Ardyn wouldn’t have forgotten the episode in the bathtub - or the kiss - anymore than he had. In fact, if the look of smug triumph on his face was any indication, it would seem he was thinking of nothing else. “You...rang for something?” 

“Yes. For  _ you,  _ specifically. I heard from Scientia - please, come closer,” he said, gesturing for Prompto to have a seat beside him on the chaise. Hesitantly, the blond inched away from the wall toward him. “I inquired from Scientia about your wrist this morning. I’d heard you injured it and I was hoping to take a look.” 

“I’m fine,” Prompto lied, and quickly folded both hands behind his back. “Where is Ignis?” 

Ardyn, however, persisted.  “On an errand, I’m afraid he’ll be gone for some time. Now….” He smiled as he pushed himself to his feet, and closed the remaining distance between them in two strides. “Your injury. I must insist you show me. What kind of employer would I be if I allowed my help to carry on in such pain?”

_Employer? Help?_ Just what was he playing at? “Please, it’s only a small sprain,” he said instead through clenched teeth. Already, hands far larger than his own were running over his skin, fingertips ghosting up and down the length of his forearm in mock inspection. 

“Does it hurt when I touch here?” Ardyn asked, his thumb brushing over the back of Prompto’s wrist. Blue eyes flinched, and he apparently took that as answer enough. “I see. You ought to have it examined by a proper doctor. I know a man, very skilled at what he does.”

“N-no, please. I'm fine, it's not that bad.”

“It’s no bother,” he pressed. “For you, I would be happy to call in a favor.” 

Very little was making sense. Before, in Ardyn’s bathroom, he’d been...aggressive, almost  _ possessive _ , Prompto had thought. But now, here in the daylight, he had once again fallen into the role of generous host. Was this his way of apologizing? Or was it simply another game to lure him into an even more dangerous trap than before? All Prompto knew was that Ardyn had summoned him intentionally, and now they were alone in his bedroom for better or worse. 

The confusion must have been plain as day on his face, for Ardyn sighed and gently released his hand. “I see you don’t trust me. Can’t really blame you, after my behavior last night. Perhaps I was a bit too...forward with my intentions, but I assure you -  _ Prompto -  _ that I mean you no harm.” 

_ That _ , of course, still remained to be seen, yet for the sake of not testing the theory just yet he kept quiet as Ardyn continued. 

“I must admit, I do find it hard to control myself around you. You are beautiful, do you know that?” His hand came up to cup Prompto’s cheek, and the blond almost managed not to flinch at the contact. “Hmm. I do hope things between us aren’t always so strained. I might consider finding a more...suitable position for you here if you learned to trust me. One that I think could greatly benefit us both.” 

Prompto felt sick. As if Ardyn’s meaning wasn't clear enough, those yellow eyes raked twice up and down the length of his body. Recalling, no doubt, how he’d looked undressed, standing naked and dripping and afraid under the spell of that very same gaze. 

He recoiled from Ardyn’s hand on his cheek. Forced his voice steady when he spoke, and kept his own eyes fixed at chest level the way he’d seen Ignis do once before. “Will that be all?” he asked.

The answer, as it were, earned him a smirk. But if Ardyn merely saw this as a game, at least he was gracious enough to allow Prompto to stay in the round. “Yes, for now. Do consider my offer, though, won’t you? I think you’ll come to find it quite palatable in time.” 

Prompto didn’t wait for him to finish before he was all-but running from the room, back down the stairs to the kitchen, where he was sure to lock every door behind him. 

* * *

It was well after dark before Ignis returned to Caelum Manor. Prompto heard the braying of horses out in the yard, and the groaning of the iron gates being swung shut. Footsteps passed the window of the servants’ quarters, and a sense of excitement followed. This was the moment he’d been waiting for all day. There was so much to talk about, so much he had to tell Ignis about Ardyn, about Noctis, about wanting to help however he could. Nervously, he sat up on his cot and folded his hands in his lap, trying to will his heart to beat normally in his chest as he waited for the door to open.

It did, eventually. But Ignis entered without so much as a glance in Prompto’s direction, dropped his bags down on top of his own bed, and left again in a whirlwind of brooding silence. Prompto had just managed to find his voice when the door slammed shut in his wake. 

So much for second chances. 

 

He woke again much later in the night, after the last candles had finally gone out. Or, rather,  _ something _ had woken him, but in the darkness it took a moment to work out just what it was.  

“ _ Prompto _ ,” a voice - familiar - hissed next to his ear. “ _ Get up. Follow me.”  _

Groggily, he rubbed at his eyes. “Who a--?”

“ _ Shh. We must be quiet.” _

The hands that guided him up were gentle. Blinking, he caught a glint of light off of a pair of glasses and that, more than anything, broke through the haze of his sleep. “Ignis?” 

“Follow me,” he repeated in a hushed but urgent tone. “Noct is waiting.”

They traveled quickly, their bare feet almost perfectly silent across the cold stone floor. Ignis led him not into the foyer, but instead through a door to the back hallways, the narrow passages used only by the servants. The path was cold, and dark save for the small candle Ignis held in front of them, but nevertheless he moved with practiced confidence. Up a flight of stairs they went, and with each step Prompto’s heart beat faster with both hope and trepidation. 

At last the corridor came to an abrupt end; three walls, only one path behind the way they’d come, and yet Ignis didn’t seem perturbed in the least. He cast a stern glance back over his shoulder - as if to make sure Prompto hadn’t gotten lost along the way - before rapping his knuckles against the wall ahead. The sound was surprisingly hollow, more like wood than concrete, and a moment later Prompto discovered exactly why. 

Right before his eyes, the wall  _ moved.  _ First to the left, then outward as light flooded into the hallway. Eyes adjusting, he opened them again to find an entire room on the other side, and standing in front of it was a young man whose face he recognized instantly from the portraits. 

“Thanks for bringing him, Iggy,” Noctis said as he gestured the two inside. Prompto entered, then turned to watch him slide the  false wardrobe back into place. “Where’s Gladio?” 

“I thought it was crowded enough in here,” came the curt reply. Ignis took a seat on the edge of the only bed in the room, and crossed his legs as if nothing about this seemed out of the ordinary. “But if this one steps out of line, I can handle him myself.” 

He was looking directly at Prompto as he spoke, green eyes cold, calculating, and there was no doubt in the blond’s mind that he meant every word.  _ Steps out of line _ . Just what did they all think him capable of, anyway? 

Noctis sighed. “Igs, I told you he’s on our side. Dad always said Cor was practically family, and that means Prompto is, too.” 

When he smiled, the effect was contagious. “T-thank you for trusting me,” Prompto said, almost awed. His cheeks flushed when those deep blue eyes settled on his. 

“Thanks for saying hello.” 

“Yes, well,” Ignis interrupted, and Noctis turned to join him on the bed. “You’re here now, Prompto, and I suppose that makes you one of us. You can tell no one of this meeting, or that you’ve been inside this room. Greater men have died to protect the secret from falling into the wrong hands.” 

“The wrong hands….”  _ Ardyn. _ Of course Prompto would never tell him, but.... “Noctis, you said he keeps you here. But you have a way out, why not leave?”  

“Ardyn killed my father.” There was anger in his voice, and sadness, too. Beside him, Ignis’ expression turned grim. “I can’t prove it, at least not yet. But I’m not leaving here until I avenge him. Iggy and Gladio agreed to stay and help. Now I hope I can count on you, too.”

“Yes. Our plan is already in the works. As it turns out, Ardyn will be hosting a dinner for some political dignitaries in a week’s time. The occasion is apparently to celebrate the renewal of the peace treaty between Lucis and the Empire.” 

“It’s a front,” Noct scoffed. “He’s only ever been on one side - his own.”

Prompto didn’t miss the way Ignis slid his hand across the sheets hand to envelop Noct’s own. “Be that as it may, it’s the perfect opportunity for us. We plan to strike while he’s distracted at the party, use that time to find the evidence we need. And once the drink has gone to his head, we’ll twist the confession out of him in front of all his esteemed guests. Whatever he’s plotting, he’ll be ruined.”

Sneaking around in a house full of people? Prompto was no expert, but in his short time at Caelum Manor he’d already learned to be wary of Ardyn’s traps. “Aren’t you afraid of getting caught?” he asked. 

But Noctis was armed with an answer. “Actually...that’s where you come in. Ardyn’s always been suspicious of anyone who served this house under my father, so Iggy and Gladio have to be careful. But he’s got no reason to suspect you. All you have to do is keep him downstairs, we’ll handle the rest.”

“So you want me to...distract him?” 

Ignis regarded him with thinly veiled amusement. “I imagine it won’t be that difficult for you?” 

“N-no,” he flushed. “I can manage.” Easier said than done, perhaps, but he knew he had to at least try. “And...then once it’s all done, we can leave, right?” 

“To hell with this place. I’ve got money in the city, plenty for the four of us.” Noctis looked carefully between them both. “We’ll all be free men.”

That night, Prompto didn’t sleep. He lay awake until dawn broke through the blanket of clouds overhead, his mind buzzing with possibilities.  _ Freedom, a new life in Insomnia. _ Maybe it wasn’t exactly what he’d come here for, but it was a prospect that filled him with hope. Cor, too, would be proud to hear he’d finally done his part to help an old friend. 

And all he had to do was play Ardyn’s own game against him. 


	6. Riding Lesson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto's feelings blossom in an unexpected way as the night of the party draws near.

Breakfast came far, far too early in his opinion. Yawning, still rubbing sleep from his eyes, Prompto nearly missed the looks Ignis shot him when he slid over his plate of porridge and fruit. 

“Are you alright this morning, Prompto?” he asked, voice raised for the benefit of the whole table. “You look  _ tired. _ ” 

Another yawn. How could Ignis, who had gotten almost as little sleep as him, still manage to look so groomed and well-rested so early? “Hm? Y-yeah, just a long night. I’ll be fine.” 

Though he said nothing, Ignis returned to the table a moment later with not one, but  _ two  _ of his regular steaming mugs. “Try the coffee, it helps,” he offered, along with the hint of a smile. 

It was  _ strong _ , but it did help him to get through most of his morning chores. After collecting all the linens and towels from the first floor, he was directed outside to a large wash basin next to the gardens. The water he filled himself from the spicket, and he even got so far as to dump the laundry inside before exhaustion got the better of him at last. He flopped onto his back right there in the grass. Threw his arm over his face and let his eyes drift closed for a long overdue break. 

But of course it didn't last long.

“Are you always this lazy, or do I just have good timing?”

He peered up to find a figure standing over him, smirking against the backdrop of clouds. Prompto considered his question. “Nope. It’s definitely just you,” he said, and watched as Gladio sank down into the grass beside him. 

“Maybe. So, laundry, huh?” 

“For a change.” Raising himself up onto one elbow, Prompto followed Gladio’s gaze to the still-soaking linens in the wash basin. “Well, eventually. I just needed to close my eyes for a few minutes, I was up pretty late last night.” 

“Yeah, Iggy told me.” There was a pause, and Gladio fell silent. He ran his fingers absently through the blades of grass at his side, eyes focusing on nothing in particular as he searched for his next words. And when at last he found them, his voice was more serious than Prompto might have expected. 

“I owe you an apology for the way I acted the other night. I read into something that was none of my business, and got angry. It wasn’t fair to you.” His gaze swept over the space between them to meet startled blues. “Prompto, I’m sorry.” 

_ Oh. _ Cheeks coloring, he dropped his own gaze to his lap.  _ That _ . “It’s fine, really. You don’t have to explain. I understand how it must have looked, especially since I’m a Nif-”

“No. No, that’s not it, Prompto, I….” Gladio trailed off, looking uncomfortable as he raked his fingers back through his mane of hair. “Listen, I want to make it up to you. Something to give you a break from all this. To welcome you properly. What do you say? Ditch the laundry, let me take the heat for it later.”

Again, Prompto looked at the untouched linens and tried to picture Ignis’ reaction when he found out. It was not a settling image. “Are...are you sure?” 

“‘Course I am.”

“A-alright,” he flushed. “Thank you. But, um, where are we going?” 

Gladio got to his feet, brushed off the back of his pants, and turned to hold out his hand for Prompto next. “Have you ever ridden a horse?”  

 

The mare was beautiful, a mottled grey with a shining black mane.  _ Quicksilver,  _ Gladio had called her as he'd led her by the bridle out into the yard. Not a purebred but still one of Regis’ fastest, she’d been won in a bet against a Niff trader before the last war. “As sweet a beast as you'll ever meet, too. She'll treat you right for your first time.” 

Prompto smiled awkwardly. The horse - Quicksilver - was massive up close. She made even Gladio beside her look small in comparison, which did little to instill confidence in his own ability to actually climb up there. But as she approached, and he held out his hand the way Gladio had shown him, her nose very daintily lifted to brush his palm. Feather-soft and pleasantly warm, the touch had him smiling almost instantly. 

“Ha, I think she likes me,” he laughed, surprised at how the short hairs on the horse’s snout tickled. “Good girl, yes you are!”

Beside her, fingers stroking her mane, Gladio chuckled. “She's not a dog, Prom. But you're right. I think she trusts you.”

A very large, very wet tongue met his palm next, followed by a wumph of air and a playful whinny. According to Gladio (who was gracious enough to let Prompto wipe his hand clean on his sleeve), it meant she was eager to take him around the yard on her back. “I'll be with you the whole time,” he reassured him. “Ready to get on?”

As expected, getting into the saddle was a challenge. After several attempts, and between Gladio’s strength boosting him up and Quicksilver’s unfaltering patience, he was finally able to heave himself onto her back lengthwise. A little shuffling, some flailing, and an awkward moment with his backside in the air later, he settled down rightways-up into the saddle at last. 

The view from the top was nearly enough to take his breath away. “Wow….”

Gladio smirked where he was busy adjusting the stirrups. “Not bad, huh? How does it look from up there?”

“Like…you’re really short.”

“Heh. Enjoy it while you can. Ready?” 

Prompto tightened his grip on the horn of the saddle. Sucked in a breath, and made sure to look straight ahead when he nodded. “Ready.”

Quicksilver started off at a smooth walk. At her side, Gladio held onto the reins while he guided them both, occasionally patting her neck or humming soothing commands. They lapped the yard of the stables once at the same, steady pace, until by the time they came back around Prompto was certain he was getting used to the cadence. “Can we go again?” he asked, blue eyes wide with excitement. 

Gladio smiled. “Sure. Here, you try leading her this time.” 

He explained the basics of the reins - pull left to go left; gently, not too fast - before pressing the worn leather into both of Prompto's hands. “I'll be right here watching.”

With that assurance, he gave the reins an experimental tug. Quicksilver seemed to sense his inexperience, moved with slow, careful steps at first. But luckily for them both, Prompto proved to be a fast learner. He adjusted his grip, and stroked the horse’s mane the way he'd seen Gladio do. Before long, he was riding with more confidence, and in return Quicksilver picked up the pace of her trot. 

Laughing, loving the feel of the breeze through his hair, Prompto couldn't remember the last time he'd had as much fun as this. It was almost a shame they'd all be leaving soon; he would have liked to spend more time here at the stables with the horses. 

And with Gladio. 

A glance over his shoulder told him that those dark amber eyes were still watching him. Gladio raised his hand in a wave. Smiled wide, and in that moment Prompto felt as light as the wind rushing past his cheeks. 

* * *

 

Over the course of the next week, every waking hour was spent in preparation for the impending party. During the day, Prompto was kept busy with even more chores than usual: polishing the silverware, changing the drapes, washing the rugs. He helped Ignis with the cooking, as well, and jotted down shopping lists while together they planned out the meals. Outwardly, nothing in the manor appeared out of place. 

But at night…. 

In Noctis’ bedroom, while the rest of the house slept, the four conspirators met in secret to discuss plans of their own. Namely, the roles each would play in the party’s backstage event, and in the careful unraveling of a murder. 

Ignis, as the butler of the manor, would be expected to stay close to the main hall until after dinner had been served. It was decided that he would wait for the guests to move into the parlor, then slip away through the kitchens to meet Noctis upstairs. Together, they would use the servants’ hallways to enter Ardyn’s personal library and search his desk for correspondence he may have received from his contacts in the Niflheim army. If Regis’ murder was, as Noct suspected, connected to the treaty, there would be proof there.

The desk, naturally, was kept locked at all times. Its key, then, would have to be procured in advance by Gladio, who as appointed doorman for the night would have access to the coat pockets of every guest at the party - as well as its host. It was up to him to get the key to Ignis, and then stay out of sight. 

That just left Prompto. His role, as they explained, was simple but crucial to the plan. Their success hinged on keeping Ardyn downstairs and completely unaware of the wheels turning literally above his head. “Keep him drinking,” Ignis advised. “Cause a scene if you must, but do not let him out of your sight. Can you manage it?”

Slowly, he nodded. Of course he had his doubts - they all did - but the risks had to be great in order for this to succeed. Loathe as he was to get too close within Ardyn’s reach again, he certainly wasn’t going to fail his friends. “Leave him to me,” he said, and hoped his voice sounded braver than he actually felt.

Large fingers brushed against his. Prompto took Gladio’s hand where it was offered between them on Noct’s floor, and counted the hours left with his thumb on the back of calloused knuckles. 


	7. Risks Taken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their plan is set into motion as the guests arrive, but Prompto may be in over his head.

It rained for three days on end after that. By the evening of the party, when the first guests were due to start arriving, the ground of the estate was soaked through, more mud than grass and flooding in parts. Everyone was restless. 

Ignis, in particular, was quieter than usual. Prompto noticed he hadn’t come back to the servants’ quarters the night before, instead returning just before breakfast with a sort of pensive expression on his face. Where he’d been he wouldn’t say, and snapped at anyone who attempted to speak to him before his second cup of coffee. 

Ardyn was the only one in the house who seemed cheerful despite the gloomy mood in the air. With mere hours left, he’d donned an elaborate suit the color of the heavy clouds outside, and pulled his hair back at his nape in an attempt (Prompto supposed) to tame the worst of the curls. The effect was something from neither Lucian nor Gralean high fashion, but an odd mix of the two. Fitting, really, for a man who so easily played both sides.

Yet watching him move about the house, preoccupied as he was with overseeing the last-minute preparations, Prompto felt the pressure of their plan at full force. If they failed - if  _ he  _ failed - then all hopes of escape would be dashed. If they succeeded…. Well, that was just it. He had no idea what the future held, and that  _ not knowing _ was frightening in itself. 

All things, even freedom, came at a price.

A sudden crack of thunder scattered his thoughts like a whip. It seemed the storm was getting worse, and his nerves unraveling along with it. He needed to find a way to keep his hands busy before he wrung the hem of his shirt to shreds. 

Memorizing the names and years of the wine to be offered that night keep him occupied for the next half hour. Until, with a creaking of iron the first of the guests were announced from the front gate. The staff were ordered into position. Ardyn waited at the door, coat draped over his shoulders and twirling an umbrella in one hand almost impatiently. Beside him, Gladio stood rigid, statue-like lest he move and rip right out of the tight fabric of his suit. 

Outside, the clomping of hooves through mud meant more carriages were pulling up. Ardyn pushed past Gladio to open the door himself, his voice ringing out even above the sound of the rain. “Greetings! Welcome, Caligo! Loqi! It’s been an age, at least.” 

With the arrival of the two Imperial generals, the party was officially underway. More and more guests arrived after that in quick succession; politicians and aristocrats from Insomnia, Gralea, and even Tenebrae, which had fallen under the Emperor’s control in the last war.  Even t he notorious scientist Verstael Besithia was in attendance. How Ardyn had made the acquaintance of such a vile man, Prompto couldn't guess. But it certainly lent weight to Noct’s suspicions that there was more to Regis’ death than just a dysfunctional family. 

The last of the guests arrived at a quarter past six. On cue, as the front gates swung shut and Ardyn welcomed the latecomers in from the rain, Gladio set step one of their plan into motion. He silently accepted coats from two women in lavish dresses first, then turned smoothly to their host himself. “And you, sir?” his lips seemed to say, and from across the room Prompto held his breath in anticipation. If this went wrong, if they failed here….

Without a word of protest, Ardyn allowed Gladio to slide his coat from his shoulders, paying little more attention to him than a catoblepas might to a bluegill swimming past its feet. He seemed far more concerned, as he had been since morning, with entertaining his rich (and influential) friends than on the enemies right under his nose. 

Ignis had been right; to the upper class, servants really were invisible. 

Prompto might have laughed had Ardyn not sauntered past him then with both ladies in tow. As it were, he slowly released the breath he’d been holding and instead turned to watch Gladio retrieve their prize. Already, he was patting down the pockets of the coat in his search. First one side, then the other; then he was sliding his fingers along the inner lining, the collar, the sleeves.  _ Shaking _ the whole damn thing as his frustration grew.  

Oh,  _ no. _

Amber eyes lifted and found Prompto fast. “No keys,” Gladio mouthed, desperately.  _ He took the fucking keys. _

Clever, perhaps, or simply paranoid; but with everything hinging on getting access to his desk, this was  _ bad _ . They needed those keys - there had to be another way. 

Prompto nodded in Gladio’s direction, and before he’d even fully formed his plan he was taking off around the corner toward the kitchens.

 

There were nearly two dozen guests in total seated around the dining table of the main hall. Elegant gowns, expensive jewelry, painted faces that hardly so much as glanced in his direction as Prompto poured their wine one by one. All eyes were instead on the far end of the table, where one of the generals was regaling them all with a tasteless story from the Old War. Something about the length of a man’s sword and compensation, Prompto could hardly claim to be listening. The jokes in particular sent the ladies in the room into fits of laughter, though, and he took advantage of the distraction to slip all-but unnoticed between them.

He was approaching Ardyn’s seat at the table. The bottle he held nearly slipped from his hands on the next pour, the glass growing slick between his sweating palms, but he focused up and tightened his grip. Only one more space, he was almost there. Ardyn’s head tilted ever so faintly. As if sensing his presence, he curled his fingers around the stem of his glass, and raised it up just as Prompto moved into place beside him. 

“Sir,” the blond whispered. He hoped his voice was steadier than the wine bottle when he began to pour. “You look charming this evening.” 

He could feel the heat of Ardyn’s gaze turn to him. “Do I?” he whispered in return.

Already, the glass was half full. Prompto tilted the bottle back, slowing the stream to a trickle. “Very. I haven’t been able to take my eyes off of you.”  

The older man’s smile darkened, twisted on one side. “Interesting development. I’d like to hear more on the matter. Later, perhaps?”

“Of course, sir.” There was nothing subtle about the way he slid his fingers along the neck of the wine bottle as he brought it back from Ardyn’s glass. Or, after wiping the excess from the rim, how he very intentionally let the towel flutter to the floor. “ _ Oops _ ,” he smiled, and kneeled down to retrieve it. 

Above him, the table erupted in another bout of laughter. Perfect timing to place his hand on the inside of Ardyn’s calf, stroke up the length of his thigh, feeling those yellow eyes watching him in both surprise and interest. Higher and higher, fingertips ghosting just below where Ardyn so clearly wanted him to touch - and finally settling on the bulge in his pocket instead. It  _ jingled _ , the sound faint over the commotion above, but it was enough. Prompto quickly swallowed back his disgust. Leaned his weight fully into Ardyn’s lap, and cast a shy smile up at him from between his legs.  

Meanwhile, the keys slid easily out of his pocket onto the towel below. 

The distraction had worked, but Prompto suddenly feared he may have played his hand too soon. Ardyn’s fingers hooked under his chin then, as possessively as the night he’d kissed him in the bath, and guided him insistently out from under the table. Prompto could see now there were several others watching them, some curious, some entertained. No doubt wondering, much like he was in that frightening moment, how their host was going react.

There was no strike, but as Ardyn leaned in close, Prompto squeezed his eyes shut anyway. “Best be careful,” came the low threat next to his ear. “The next time you’re careless with my property, I shan’t stay my hand.” 

More roars of laughter rose up, followed by applause for the general who was now bowing at the end of the table. It drowned out the sound of Prompto’s heart pounding in his chest, the tremble in his voice as he uttered a shaken  _ yes, sir _ . He didn’t wait to see who else watched him leave. Merely backed away from the room, stolen keys bundled in the towel he clutched to his chest, and beelined for the kitchens to find Ignis. 


	8. The Price of Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ardyn isn't the only one in for a dark surprise after dinner.

At eight o’clock, the guests retired into the parlor for reception right on schedule. Prompto, also as scheduled, followed behind, both as a scout and to ensure the wine never stopped flowing for a second. Particularly for Ardyn, whose glass had already been refilled more times than he could keep count. Yet no matter how much the man drank, he showed no outward signs of its effects: no slurring, no fumbling. If anything, he seemed to have grown more controlled throughout the night, the shadows on his face pulling sharper, deeper as he milled about the crowd. 

Music started up suddenly from a piano in one of the adjacent rooms. Lively, something Prompto didn’t recognize, while beyond the window rain continued to lash at the glass. Yet all the chatter, all the din was nothing compared to the sound of his heartbeat pounding in his own ears, ticking away the seconds at an agonizing pace.  

A half hour passed, another twenty, and still nothing seemed to be happening upstairs.  _ What ifs _ began to tighten in Prompto’s gut -  _ what if they’ve been caught? What if they’ve found nothing, because there isn’t anything to find?  _ The more time dragged on, the more anxious he grew, until he was forced to set down the bottle of wine he’d been carrying for fear he’d only drop it.

That was his first mistake. 

His second was losing sight of Ardyn in the crowd. One moment, he’d been standing by the fireplace next to a short, blond man in an officer’s uniform, the next he was simply...gone. In a panic, Prompto scanned the the room, until he thought he caught a glimpse of reddish-brown hair disappear around the corner into the hallway. Without time to think, he took off in the same direction, only to find the hall empty by the time he reached it. 

The stairs? But no. Even as Prompto started up them, he knew Ardyn couldn’t have reached the top and vanished again so quickly. Back toward the dining hall, then? It was worth a try. He turned, mentally cursing himself for such a stupid mistake, when from the other side of the railing a hand snapped out to grab his wrist. 

Prompto was yanked hard into the alcove there. Shoved up against the wood paneling, his breath leaving him just as Ardyn’s mouth closed in to claim in. 

“Is this,” he growled between kisses that were making Prompto’s head spin. “What you’ve been looking for?”

A muffled cry; his voice sounded distant, alien to his own ears. 

Ardyn’s teeth raked over his bottom lip. The smell of alcohol was strong, sour, enough to turn his stomach as much as the fingers already pawing at his shirt. “You really  _ have  _ been watching me all night. Did you want to throw yourself at me so badly you couldn’t even wait to be alone?”

“P-plea...se….” His lungs ached. With Ardyn’s weight pressing into him, it was so hard to catch his breath. “Stop….”

“And that stunt you pulled at dinner. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?” 

Blue eyes flew open wide. Prompto wanted to scream, wanted to shove Ardyn away from him, but those words had turned his blood to ice. “...W-what?”

“My  _ keys _ . I know you took them.” He grinned again, darker, and dug his fingernails painfully into Prompto’s wrist. “That beastly boy toy of yours was looking for them, too. Ah, yes, I know all about that. I know everything that happens in my house, you see.  _ And  _ in my stables.” 

Despite the panic that rose like bile in his throat, Prompto forced himself to keep quiet. There was something Ardyn said - or, rather,  _ hadn’t  _ said - that yet held a glimmer of hope:  _ he didn’t actually know where the keys had gone.  _

Which meant if he could keep him distracted long enough…. “P-please, I beg you. Don’t hurt Gladio. It wasn’t his idea, honestly. I was the one who--”

“Who what? Decided to break his heart?” 

“A-ahh!”

Ardyn’s other hand, the one not holding him pinned in place, ground down a second time, palm rubbing hard between Prompto’s legs to pull another cry from him. “I don’t think I need to tell you how much I don’t like to share. But I would very much like to hear how you managed to seduce him. In fact, why don’t you  _ show  _ me?” 

“W-wait…!”

“You can start on your knees.  _ Then _ you can tell me where you’ve hidden my things, thief.” 

Prompto was shoved roughly down to the floor. The grip on his arm flew to his hair instead, fingers pulling cruelly until tears stung at his eyes. One last glance up, one last attempt to buy time, but he found nothing but that heartless, crooked smile watching him back. 

The price of freedom….

“ _ Izunia!” _

From the parlor, the name rang out as loud and clear as a clap of thunder. Prompto froze, as did Ardyn still towering above him. 

“Izunia! Show yourself, murderer!” 

That voice - there was no mistaking it belonged to Noctis. Which meant their plan...had worked?

“Oh, dear.” Anger rippled visibly through Ardyn’s frame. Those yellow eyes, bright now with clarity, turned on Prompto for perhaps the last time, and he growled through clenched teeth, “ _ What have you done? _ ”

Then he was storming in a fury back toward the parlor and the source of the voice. Prompto scrambled to his feet after him, still shaking off his shock and the sour aftertaste of wine. 

 

Noctis stood tall atop an armchair in the center of the room. At his side, Ignis carried a leather satchel in one hand and a set of keys in the other. And together, they were glaring directly at Ardyn. “Hello,  _ Uncle.”  _

The guests chittered with excitement.

“What is the meaning of this?” one man exclaimed. 

“This boy says he's Regis’ son!” wailed another. 

Ardyn held up his hands and forced his most convincing smile. “Noctis! Dear, dear, Noctis,” he laughed. “I'm afraid we've woken you, haven't we? I know how much you need your bed rest.” Then, loudly to the woman beside him: “The boy is terribly ill,  _ terribly. _ ”

But Noctis cut him off. “The lies end here, Ardyn. Tell these people the truth about how you took this house from my father. How you  _ murdered _ him so you could sell this land to Niflheim!” 

“What? Is that true?” 

“But what about the peace treaty?”

“That’s preposterous,” Ardyn shouted to be heard over the clamour. His mask, Prompto noticed, was slipping wildly. “How dare you! You have no proof of anything.” 

“Actually, we do.” Ignis’ calm, even tone was a stark contrast as he lifted the leather satchel he’d been holding into the air. “Letters, dozens of them; addressed to  _ I.Z.  _ from  _ V.B. _ , detailing plans for the construction of storage facilities, laboratories, etc, etc. Also, one letter - finished but unsent - claiming that ‘the blood on my hands shall require more compensation than we’d previously agreed,  _ old friend.’” _

From across the room, the scientist Besithia shot Ardyn a scathing look. 

“You would trade your own family for the profits of another meaningless war. You’re a murderer and a traitor, ” Noctis’ accusation was powerful, damning; for a moment, it seemed Ardyn had nowhere to run. But then, to Prompto’s surprise, he began to clap. 

“Bravo, Noctis. You’ve found me out, you’ve besmirched my good name in front of all these people. You truly are your father’s child.” Something was wrong. Even Ignis was looking around as if suddenly unsure as Ardyn continued. “But, just like him, you don’t seem to notice when you’re terribly outnumbered.” 

At his nod, knives were drawn all around the room. The two generals, and even Besithia himself, moved quickly to block the exits. 

“Unfortunately, I can’t share the credit for all the deaths of these fine people with you, dear boy. They were going to die anyway. Carriage accidents, trampled by horses - just part of the business. But I will say,” Ardyn shrugged. “You have certainly expedited the process.”

“No!”

“Noctis, run!”

“Oh, gods!” 

Steel seemed to flash in every corner of the room. Prompto felt sick, his eyes open wide to the horror as frightened men and women tried desperately to flee the sudden attack. A few pushed past him, rushed for the front doors, but in the chaos he’d lost sight of Ignis and Noct. He couldn’t -  _ wouldn’t _ \- leave them, and so despite the screams he raced headlong into the parlor where the carpet was already turning red with spilled blood. 

He spotted his friends near the fireplace. Ignis was in front, fending off blows from the short Niff general with nothing but a cushion between his hands. The match seemed one-sided from afar; but even as Prompto ran toward them to help, he saw Ignis smoothly dodge roll over the back of a chair, then kick the thing flying into the general’s face. The Niff stumbled back, dropped his knife, and collapsed unconscious onto the floor where he stood. 

Prompto made a mental note to ask him later about  _ that _ one. 

“Noct! Iggy!”

“Prompto!” 

“The plan failed,” Ignis told them, readjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “We need to leave. Now.” 

“But...where’s Gladio?” 

“The stables.” Noct frowned. “You two should go. I’ll catch up.” 

“Noct?!”

“Noble to the end, aren’t you? How touching.” Snatching the downed general’s knife from the floor, Ardyn wiped the blade on his sleeve and spun it once between his fingers. “Save your friends, sacrifice yourself; I’ve heard it more times than you could know. It’s that persistent ‘hero complex’ most Caelums are born with. Fortunately for me, it skips every few generations.” 

“You’re the one outnumbered now, Izunia,” Ignis observed, though he continued to eye the knife in his hands warily. “You won’t win this.”

“Ah, of course. The cripple, the butler, and the pretty sneak thief. Which of you wants to die first?”

Without hesitation, Ignis lunged straight for the knife in his hand. It should have been an easy kill, but Ardyn had made the mistake of underestimating his prey. Instead of sinking the blade down into flesh, he cut through nothing but air as Ignis cleanly pivoted away. The move left an opening for Noctis, who followed swiftly with a kick to Ardyn’s wrist. He was spun around, and the knife flew from his grasp to land halfway across the room. 

Arm clutched to his chest, Ardyn staggered back. “Verstael!” he shouted. “Verstael, where are you?” Behind him, the fireplace crackled and flickered as hotly as the fever in his eyes. “ _ Verstael!” _

Prompto saw it all happen in the heartbeat before disaster actually struck. The platter on the mantle, Ardyn’s footsteps erratic, uncertain. There was a split-second, just before that final step, when Prompto might have cried out in warning. But instead, all that passed his lips was a timely, “ _ Oops. _ ”

The heel of Ardyn’s shoe caught a loose log in the hearth. Slipped and sent him toppling backwards into the mantle, where his shoulder bumped the bronze platter out of place next. It teetered for a heartbeat on its edge, then clattered back against the wall to dislodge the hastily hung portrait of Ardyn himself in the center. The canvas, the heavy wooden frame - both crashed into the fire below, sending embers and flame dancing out in every direction. 

Fire caught the carpet. Spread lightning fast to the curtains, the furniture. And while Ardyn stood motionless to watch the flames begin to lick up the walls, Ignis was faster to shake off the shock. He grabbed Noctis and Prompto by the wrists and dragged them out of the room. 

Several carriages were just peeling away when they reached the front steps. A voice called out to them - Gladio - and Prompto spotted him rushing forward out of the shadows. “Are you okay? What the hell happened in there? Everyone came running out screaming to open the gates and--”

Somewhere behind them, glass shattered. Smoke was beginning to pour into the foyer, black and thick, and any questions Gladio had were pushed instantly to the back of his mind. “Right. Horses. Let’s go.” 

There was no time to saddle them. Noct climbed onto a black stallion behind Ignis, and Gladio all but tossed Prompto up onto Quicksilver’s back as he jumped on as well. The other stables had been thrown open, and as the first traces of smoke began to panic the horses, Gladio led them all charging out into the night. Across the muddied yard, through the great iron gates and to freedom beyond. 

With Gladio’s arms wrapped tight around him, Prompto risked a final glance back. Caelum Manor stood like a monument against the darkness, bright as day in the long night as the fire raged up its sides. Noctis’ home.  _ All  _ of their homes, really, even if only for a short time. Yet by morning, it would be little more than ruin and memory.

Everything came at a price, even freedom. The four of them knew that lesson well. As the past burned to nothing behind them, they made the choice to ride hard toward the future. Toward the unknown, the undiscovered. The  _ new _ . And as Prompto closed his eyes again, loving the feel of the night wind rushing past, he knew the price had been worth it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy White Day~~~~


End file.
